treat me like a stranger
by morgiepuff
Summary: There's only one chance to survive. Only one person comes out - or maybe not. Cato/Clove, AU fic following their time in the arena.
1. Beginning

_**Author's note:** I started this out of the blue today. It's a short chapter; most of them in this story will be. I hope you all enjoy, and please review!_

Today's the day.

I'm wearing my favorite blue necklace, the one my mother has let me borrow every year on this special day. The dress I wear is also a deep blue, matching my necklace. My necklace matches my eyes, which also match my mother's. So many people say I am just like her, yet I am so much more than that. My dress is an expensive one, made up of only the finest materials; it's embellished with the tiniest of crystals, ones that the human eye cannot even detect. They catch the light and make my skin twinkle in a way that only the stars in the sky above me can even compare to. No one at this gathering looks as beautiful as I do, and that's a good thing, seeing as it's my time to shine.

It's me that they'll call.

It's been decided long before this date came - the year I turned eleven, it was agreed upon that this year would be my year. I have been training for this day for years now, since it was even okay for me to be a part of these games. I was seven years old when I threw my first knife, and since then I have known that I was bred to kill. I was born for this, in quite a literal sense.

I am Clove Amitri, fourteen years old, and raised in District 2. How lucky I am to be from this district of mine, where we are make weapons and spend more time than you could imagine learning how to use them properly. This is all I have ever known, and all I will always know. I was born to win or die; I know I will win.

My parents were never in the Games themselves, but they are proud of me for wanting this so badly. It is my dream to feel the blood of another on my skin, my hands, my blade. Some people may think I am sick, twisted. But it is what I want and it is what I shall get.

The heels of new shoes click along the smoothly paved ground on the way to our city hall, a large building made of marble on the main square. It's beautiful, decorated and cleaned (more so than usual) for this important date. Every year it seems to sparkle more in the bright sunshine, as if it were made up of the same crystals as my dress. The building is like the sun when compared to my dark blue, sparkling piece of fabric I am draped in, making me look just like the night sky.

I spend a long time just waiting around in a line after they've checked me in. My finger isn't even sore from where they have taken the blood - in fact, I don't feel anything at all when they stab me with their needle and take the smooth red liquid from underneath my skin. It is nothing compared to the injuries I have suffered before and those that I would be suffering soon; hearing the girls in front of me wince makes me laugh. _They wouldn't stand a chance in the arena. Idiots_.

I tune out mostly everything our escort says. She is a tall, blonde and bubbly woman from the Capitol with an odd accent; her smile and laugh are the two fakest things I have ever seen in my entire life. She makes me nauseous.

There is a long amount of talking where our mayor comes and speaks to us about the history of Panem. I have been hearing this same dialogue for years, before I was even old enough to be selected at a Reaping. At this point, I glance over to the boys' section of the area - because, you see, we're separated by gender - and meet the glance of a boy with messy blonde hair and blue eyes. I've seen him before, and he is much older than I am, being seventeen years of age now. His name is Cato.

There are only a few words in the English language that will make me pay attention at these things, and that's "Well, let's get started, shall we? Ladies first, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

At that, my full attention is on the outgoing woman standing on the stage right before my eyes. Her hands are perfectly manicured in a shade of gold to match the rest of her outfit, and her lips are painted a green color - if you ask me, it's a bit ridiculous what she wears. She reaches in to the clear glass bowl filled with strips of paper containing our names, and I know what happens next. I have never been more anxious in my life for something to happen, for this doomsday event-

"Tania Kingsworth!"

The girl, Tania, is a meek-looking younger girl who's got this flaming red hair and green eyes. She's only 12. It's her first year, and she's hardly got any training; I decide to put her out of her nervous misery and speak up.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" A smirk slides across my face as Tania's own smirk falls into a look of detesting anger. She's not happy with me, but I can't think of anything but how rich I will be as soon as I win. People will bow to kiss my feet and I will be honored across the entire country of Panem.

I walk up onto the stage, speak my name and give an adoring smile to the surprisingly cheerful crowd. Here in District 2, it is not a punishment to be chosen; it is considered an honor.

Again, I find myself not paying attention until she calls the name of the male tribute. It is a familiar name to me, one I have heard many times before. It is the name of the boy I made eye contact just moments ago and the one I admire so deeply - he is the only boy that has ever proven himself worthy of my adoration, if you could even consider it that.

We shake hands and then walk into the City Hall, satisfied smirks on both of our faces. This year's Games will prove to be difficult, but I know I can succeed.

If it comes down to it, I do not doubt myself of killing this older blonde beside me.

May the odds be ever in my favor.


	2. Arrival

_**Author's note:** This chapter is much shorter than the first one, and for that I apologize! I just wanted to give a quick look into Clove's mind before things really got started. Enjoy!_

The ride on the train to get to the Capitol is just a hazy blur in the back of my mind.

Everything was made up of the most expensive materials; the table, made of mahogany, and the chandeliers made of crystal, caught my eye. It's all beautiful and exquisite and nicer than anything I have ever seen, which surprises me - after all, I come from District 2. I can't imagine how those from the lesser Districts must feel.

Somehow, I feel out of place. Nothing feels right and there's a feeling of uneasiness between myself and Cato. Yet when our escort starts going on about something in that nauseating voice of hers, we still make eye contact and roll our eyes in unison, almost instantaneously. I know then that we have a lot in common and will quickly become good friends.

I am growing to like him more and more as the time goes by.

It's been three days, two nights and seven hours when we arrive at the Capitol. Cato and I quickly move to glance out our window at the insanity outside; there's people scrambling to get a peek at their precious tributes, the ones who will provide them so much entertainment over the coming weeks. There's this moment of insecurity before I start to wave - there was this feeling of, _well what do I do?_ which quickly went away as soon as I remembered what I was here for. I was here for them.

The view outside is ridiculous and not at all what I expected. Everyone is dressed in these outlandish clothes and makes me feel under-dressed in my little green skirt and white blouse. I take a look at Cato and he looks like he's feeling the same way. But we don't worry, for we know our stylists will take care of our little problem - for now, we just wave and soak up the screaming crowd outside of the train's windows with grins on our waves. I find it interesting that you can hear their shrieking over the gentle lull of the train. 200 miles per hour, our escort told us, and it surely didn't seem like it.

When we step off the train, there's actually a security guard of sorts to accompany us to our floor of the apartment, where we will meet our stylists for the first time before the Parade of Tributes tomorrow evening. However, it's not too early to put on a show - that's why Cato and I hook pinkies and give each other a smile. Honestly, there's something inside me that gives a flutter. I just remind myself not to get attached, as I'll be killing him later.

I'm also finding that it's difficult not to get attached.

When we enter the apartment that will be the home of the five of us - Cato, our escort (I've learned her name is Midori and I've been instructed to call her so), our mentors (their names are Brutus and Enobaria; they're both absolutely vicious and I believe they're growing on me), and myself - my jaw almost drops out of pure surprise. It's beautiful in here, filled with furniture of all shapes and patterns, sizes and colors, and brightly toned walls that make your eyes burn if you look at it too long. It's nothing like we have at home, even though our District is nice. I tell myself not to get used to the extreme luxuries that Midori is babbling on about, but I can't help but long to live here forever. I remind myself that I can when I win.

I claim the room on the west side of the apartment, towards the front of the building. There's a window that extends to cover an entire wall on the right side of my bedroom, if you're facing inwards from the doorway - it's got a breathtaking view of the Capitol streets and the people walking below. There are so many shades of pink and purple in my room that it's sickening, but I know that I will not be here long and there is no need to complain about something so foolish.

Cato's room is just across the hall from mine. He nods to me every night as we go our separate ways into the land of sleep; it's funny, how much can be said without saying anything. Sometimes I wish I had the nerve to speak up - I've never considered myself shy before. I'm changing.

Tomorrow is the Parade of Tributes, and a large feast with the other tributes to get to know them. I'm not nervous at all, but I struggle to find sleep, fighting it as hard as I can before I finally coax my brain into calming down, drifting into a light sleep. My eyes close and away I go, out like a light.

That night, there's something bothering me in my subconscious mind that keeps me from sleeping well. A nightmare haunts my dreams. It surprises me - the face that scares me so is the face of our female mentor, Enobaria. She's got a twisted scowl upon those lips of hers and she's ripping someone's throat out with her teeth like she did before in the Games she won; except this time, it's my throat.

I'm dying in my dreams already and I don't know what to do to stop it.

It is now that I realize I'm scared.


	3. Showoffs

I'm in a large room, filled with mirrors. The lights are nearly blinding, they shine so bright, and my ears are sore from all the hustle and bustle I can hear around me. There is a chemical smell in the room, and I quickly recognize it as hairspray - it's flying all around my head and the can gives that little _whoosh _of air as it releases more of the sticky gas onto my neatly styled hair. They're making me pretty, dressing me up in preparation to show me off tonight at the parade. I'm already dressed in this odd costume of sorts; it's something like out of an ancient history book, and my stylist says I'm a 'gladiator'. Come to think of it, the term sounds familiar to me - must be a sign of power, if District 2 will be wearing these gold-and-leather outfits.

There's no one in the room with me except for my stylist. I don't catch her name, but she'd be strikingly attractive if it weren't for her ridiculously long eyelashes that are obviously false and painted rainbow colors. Her hair is long and dyed a bright pink, and her lips and nails are made up to match down to the exact shade. If you ask me, it's a bit too coordinated and I'm not sure if I trust her to be my stylist at first - but as soon as she turns the chair around so I can see myself in the mirror, my mind is changed instantly.

I look stunning. My curling locks of hair, which are the color of a dark chocolate delicacy that you would only find in the finer Districts like my own, have been pulled backwards into a loose bun on the top of my head, little curls falling out here and there. A golden crown of sorts sits atop it, which matches the rest of the costume they've stuck me in to the inch. It's interesting how good I look in something that would be absolutely ridiculous on anyone else – they have somehow managed to make my baby-doll face look a little bit more grown up and more intimidating; it's a little harder to underestimate me while I'm wearing something as aggressive as this.

I still can't believe it's my own reflection staring back at me beneath the reflective surface of the mirror. My lips have been stained such a bright red that the rest of my skin looks pale in comparison. My eyes have been lined with a black liquid that makes my eyelashes look much longer. My light freckles have been seemingly brushed away, covered in a powdery material that coats my 'birthmarks' as my stylists calls them, making them disappear. I don't look like a child anymore - I will not be the innocent one in this competition and that has been made very clear by my appearance.

Clearly, Cato thinks the exact same as I when they bring him in to my styling room to see me and make sure our costumes are coordinated correctly. His eyes scan over me quickly, taking me in in my entirety; his eyes flicker back to my face before either of us really notice that we're _staring_ at each other, amazed by the pure transformation both of us have undergone. Not that Cato truly looks that changed - but every feature of his is exaggerated more than I thought was possible. He was attractive, scary, and it was known that the two of us were not a force to be messed with. _We could win this thing before anyone even noticed._

"You two look _ah-mazing!"_ Midori is behind us, the biggest, cutest (a little too cute) grin you could possibly think of on that sickening little face of hers. She's trying to stand between us, resting her palms on both of our shoulders, but she's barely taller than me and Cato towers over both of us, so she struggles for a moment before deciding to just give up with a slightly disappointed smile spreading across onto her chubby cheeks. She makes sure to over-pronounce every single syllable in her over-enthusiastic words - actually, she's just a little bit too over. She's over-the-top on absolutely everything and it's starting to drive me insane at this point; if she were in the Games with me, quite honestly, I'd target her first.

Cato is the first to acknowledge her, nodding twice and muttering something under his breath that sounds like a "Thank you," but I'm not quite sure of that. I'm not quite sure of my words or hearing at all, actually. I just know we are beautiful, we look amazing and fierce and everything that a tribute should look like. I know that we will be likable and get sponsors.

We are District 2, and we are proud of it.

—

Later that evening, we're in a chariot next to each other. We're still in the gold costumes and the fancy makeup and hairstyles and different things, as we have been for the past hour and a half - my nerves are starting to get to me now and I'm more nervous and scared than I should be. I shouldn't be scared at all. Cato is trying to reassure me, but I never say anything; it's not worth words, and I don't speak that easily anyway. I'm actually surprised that he'd said something to me at all.

I reach up and try to adjust the golden crown-like thing that is on top of my curled locks, but my stylist, who is standing next to me, smacks my hand away with a disapproving look on her face. I scoff and adjust it anyway before she can say anything, and it makes her look really mad. _Hehe, oops._

Before I even realize it, the parade is starting. I hold my head up high, my chin up to the sky, and I feel prouder than I have ever felt in my entire life. I know what I am here for now. I'm enjoying myself more than I should; there's almost a smile on my face as we show ourselves off to the awaiting audience. I'm waving and happy and all the nervousness I had before is gone as instantly as it had arrived.

At one point, Cato and I glance at each other. It's only for a moment, and our gazes barely meet, but I can feel my heartbeat speed up the tiniest amount when he gives me this heartbreaking, stomach-fluttering smile that's just absolutely gorgeous. I know then that he's more than just my district partner to me.

He's been more than that to me for years now; there's a reason I recognized him at the Reaping. I knew him before, and he actually saved my life – he kept me from dying at a training session, a day when my trainer was incredibly harsh on me and threatened to hurt me more and more. Cato intervened even if he was told not to. I don't think he remembers me, however. I only wish he did – maybe this pounding in my chest would finally quit and I could focus on the task in front of me. Killing people.

I remind myself again not to get attached.

I think I'm attached.


End file.
